


Pestilence

by Fridays__Child



Category: Original Work
Genre: Apocalypse, But the kind where they bang early on, Drug Use, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Plague, Slow Burn, Smut, Tags Are Hard, Will Add More Later, epidemic, probably some medical gore, using farming equipment as weapons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2020-03-07 07:34:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18868666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fridays__Child/pseuds/Fridays__Child
Summary: After the hubris that followed the Industrial Revolution, scholars and civilians are terrified when a new plague epidemic steadily begins killing off not only their way of life, but their population. When Hedy Leander, a foreign volunteer medic gets posted at Morrigan’s Ranch, a rural farming-turned-resort town that’s one of the few unaffected, she’s expecting a reprieve from the death and disease that clings to the bigger cities. But as things become bleaker, the small community will have to learn what desperation to survive can do to not only to their idyllic existence, but to those they thought to rely on.





	Pestilence

 

_ “No man is an island, entire of itself. _

_ Each is a piece of the continent, a part of the main. _

_ If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less…” _

 

Hedy had never been a God-fearing woman. Even in her twelve years of Catholic school, her family had been too involved in science and rationality to believe in an eternal and all-knowing watcher, and church visits were mandated to weddings and funerals. But if there was a big guy up there, presiding over her every movement, after the past few days she highly doubted he’d mind too much if she let herself doze for a few moments.

Her Pa had died. After nearly seventy years in the service of medicine, he finally, quietly, gave in to the very disease he tried to cure. The same infection that was sweeping the country like the locust in Exodus. Or so he likened it to. She had cried all she needed to over her reluctant hero, the man who rarely showed paternal love, but showered her in accolades when she, in some form, began to follow in his career path. And though she felt an ache in her chest, in the dimly lit cathedral, with the air thick and sweet with smoke, it could be so easy to put a hand over her eyes and rest quietly. She had been awake for over twenty-four hours.

_ “Each man’s death diminishes me, for I am involved in mankind. _

_ Therefore, send not to know _

_ For whom the bell tolls, _

_ It tolls for thee." _

"Now, please rise for the final hymn.”

“Yes, he was too involved in mankind, the foolish old man,” Gran muttered filthily, as Hedy gently grabbed her elbow and helped the older woman stand. The tip of her ugly feathered hat hit Hedy’s face and obscured anyone behind her’s view. Hedy hoped the small lace veil she wore hid her blush. “He thought he could play God.”

 

“I think he just wanted to help.” Hedy responded, nodding politely when some of the other mourners turned around in response to the outburst. True or not, it was too soon to speak ill of the dead. “It was his life’s work, he couldn’t just sit by while this happened.”

 

“Yes he could of,” she retorted, grabbing her small handbag and rifling through it. The pall-bearers were gathering around to carry the empty casket to the cemetery. “He was too proud of his own intelligence, and too damn stupid to realise he couldn’t outsmart it.”

 

Hedy nodded, too worn to argue back. Though her Pa had only married her Gran in during her childhood, Hedy had learned early on there was no point taking Elenora Leander on. Her previous two husbands had testified to that. 

 

“It was nice that they chose to honour him here, in the city.” Hedy changed tactics, walking along the green lawn of the adjoining cemetery to where his headstone now stood. Four feet high, the stone featured a winged man holding off a skeletal harbinger. A testimonial to the very arrogance Gran was bitter about. 

 

“Though I guess it was nice that they had a ceremony at all.” Gran sniffed.

 

It was true, however unfortunate it seemed. The death that was occurring on mass across the company meant that funerals had lost any sense of rarity , any sense of closure. Everyone was mourning. There were no bodies to bury, the government decreed that any person who died from this plague, as well as their clothes and anything they came into contact with during their incubation, was to be burnt and then buried. Pa’s body would have been burnt a week ago, and buried in the mass grave they all pretended was not only a few miles out of the city’s gates. This funeral, with the casket and headstone, was a laughable luxury.

 

“I suppose this put you out of a job.” Gran retorted, pulling a small vial from her purse. Delicately, she let four drops fall onto her tongue, grimacing slightly as she swallowed. Hedy rounded on her, taking the small vial from her grasp. 

 

“I was out a year before this happened,” she replied, taking a sniff of the concoction. She did not recognise the label on the bottle. “And what is this, Gran?”

 

“One of your Pa’s students gave this to me, said it would help my nerves today.” 

 

Hedy popped a drop on the back of her hand, looking around to make sure no other funeral attendees were watching. Most had already begun to leave. There was to be no wake, no viewing, and no body to bury. She tentatively licked it off her gloves.

 

“Gran, this is nothing more than brandy with some lavender in it!” Hedy exclaimed, before licking her hand again. “And maybe some form of opiate.”

 

“Oh good,” Gran took the bottle back, taking a few more drops for good measure. She placed the small vial daintily back into her handbag and closed the clasp with a sharp snap. “I couldn’t very well bring out a flask, could I? The only thing worse than a drunk widow is a hysterical one.”

 

~

 

Goodbyes at the train station were a short affair. Despite having lived at Morrigan Ranch for the past twenty years, Gran had decided to live in the city, citing she was old and had nothing left at that ‘run down hick town.’ When Hedy had mentioned was worried about her on her own, she snorted. “Sweetheart, worrying is just something we do to feel busy.”

 

The train ride itself was uneventful. Morrigan’s Ranch was located three hours out from the city, far enough away to feel rural, but close enough for a weekend trip. Originally a small farming town, its rugged, wild beauty, and relative proximity to both the city, and a quaint coastline hotspot, had made it somewhat of a resort town in recent years. The rich and bored came there to experience living off the land, spending a weekend or two with their hands in the soil before they gleefully returned to their life of privilege. Why a woman like Elenora chose to live there in retirement, Hedy would never understand. But she had enjoyed her childhood trips when she was in the country there, where the livestock and people did not mind an overly curious child with the heavy accent bothering them. She hadn’t been there since she was freshly eighteen, and, despite being posted there for work, was looking forward to staying at a place that was, if fadingly, familiar.

 

The seven-mile trek between the station and Morrigan’s Ranch via carriage was, unfortunately, less pleasant. The weight of nearly forty hours awake was beginning to toll on Hedy, her head throbbing over every bump and ditch. Despite all her recent practice, she had never been a great traveller. The uneven swaying was threatening her to be ill all over her Sunday best and stupid, too small shoes. Cecil, Morrigan’s own preacher and the organiser of her volunteer unit, had apologized profusely. Cars were already a rarity, and, in this time too expensive for the average person to run. Morrigan’s Ranch only had one vehicle in working order, and it was currently in use. Hedy had waved his apology away, but now, groaning and resting her sick head between her legs, she could really curse whoever was selfish enough to take it away from her.

 

Sitting across from her, Declan blanched slightly at her green complexion. “If you throw up on me, princess, I will throw you from this carriage.” He had a shotgun casually strapped across his back, and unfortunate part of being an escort on the roads in recent months. Firearms had stopped alarming her a long time ago.

Hedy threw him up a hand gesture, swallowing hard at the saliva pooling in her mouth. “As if I haven’t cleaned you up more times than I can count.” When he chuckled, she continued. “Just please tell me we’re fucking close already.”

“We should be.”

 

In the encroaching darkness, the surrounding forest and shrubbery around Morrigan’s Ranch seemed more overgrown than it was seven years ago. Everything rustled and echoed through the branches, accentuated by the poor horse who was carrying their load’s heavy stomps as they approached the lights glowing in the distance. She could hear voices in the distance, brutal yet cautious, asking questions about their approaching carriage. If she hadn’t gotten used to feeling afraid, she would have been nervous right now. She saw Declan’s hand twitch towards his gun. 

 

“Pull over.” 

 

Their group was met with a small convoy of armed men and woman, their expressions in the dim light dark and questioning. The carriage driver agreed, and Hedy quickly slid out, glad to feel solid ground beneath her swollen feet. However, her relief was short lived, as one gripped her forearm, roughly taking her Pa’s medicine bag, one of her few prized possession, from her grasp. She could hear Declan arguing with another as they began to surround the carriage and began rummaging through the possessions of the other carriage riders. When no one responded, the same voice spoke again. 

 

“Who are you?” She could hear another gun slowly being loaded and cocked.

 

“My name is Hedy Leander,” Hedy spat, trying to retrieve her medicine bag from out of her aggressor’s reach. She still hadn’t let go of her forearm. “Anton and Elenora’s granddaughter.”

No reply.

“I’m part of the medical team stationed here. If you give me my bag back, I can show you my pass and papers.”

The woman holding her arm looked up to the first voice.

 

“Samson?”

 

“Show me.”

 

Indignantly, Hedy snatched her bag back and quickly retrieved her papers. Beckoning for one of the men holding a lantern to come over, she at last could see where the demanding voice came from. His face was mostly obscured by long dark hair and a beard, with only the tips of his cheekbones and eyes visible in this light. Though she couldn’t see much more of him, or anyone surrounding him, she noticed he might be one of the few men that had been taller than her. He looked at her pass for a long moment, before handing it back. His voice was softer, but no less authoritative, than before.

 

“Where’s Cecil?”

 

“Dealing with border control. Trying to get our luggage through quarantine faster.” She shrugged. “I’m only allowed this bag because it’s got medical supplies.”

 

One of the other party members, a man who was wearing a wide-brimmed hat despite the night sky, stared inquisitively at the man named Samson. He nodded slightly.

 

“Okay, let’s get you in.”

 

Tensions slightly decreased, Declan and Hedy walked the remainder of the short trek by foot, with Hedy downright refusing to get on the now-spooked horse’s carriage again. The one with the hat spoke again.

 

“Sorry about the, uh, showdown there. We’ve had some issues with poachers recently.”

 

“I understand. I get why you have muscle here.” She motioned to Samson. Hat man chuckled.

 

“Hedy!”

 

As they approached the town hall, the only building illuminated by candles despite it being evening, a shrill yet excited voice called out. Hedy found herself in the arms of Moira, who had run to the convoy and promptly enveloped her with a kiss on the forehead. Though she had not known her long, Cecil’s young wife had always been kind, if slightly over-affectionate, to Hedy and the rest of her team.

 

“Are you alright, darling?” She held Hedy’s face in her hands.

 

“Yes, thank you Moira. Cecil did a lovely job today.”

 

“That’s sweet.” She linked arms with Hedy and bought her forward, into the building. “I apologize for the lack of a welcoming party. It must have been hard to find us here in the dark.”

 

“Do you have electricity here? I thought Gran said it was recently installed.” 

 

Moira nodded. “We do, only in the town hall and a few of the homes who could afford it. It’s hit the skitz, but we only turn the generators on from 6-10pm each night, and then it’s all candlelight.”

 

Hedy nodded along, tuning out as Moira quickly explained how the village ran. It had been a damn long time since she had been here.

 

~

 

Ave moved as silently as she could, trying to use the wind and night sky to her advantage. Creeping towards the old shed next to the generator, she thought it was ironic that, until only a year or two ago, she was terrified of these forests and what lay in them. She had been raised around a campfire full of tales of wraits and folk in animal skins, who would trick and spirit away those who disturbed their peace. But there was nothing here to be scared of, she knew. The only scary thing out here were the men who tried to steal from them.

 

Finally reaching the shed, she quickly took a peek at the generator, before removing the loose glass in one of the windows and wriggling her way in. Ave had heard that poachers had been seen in the area scouting for food, and when their trusty generator had broken down a few days later, she could only assume they were the culprits. She had spent too much fucking time, covered in muck, growing those vegetables for them to be stolen by lazier men.

 

Ave didn’t have to wait long for her suspicions to be confirmed. Raising herself slightly, she peered through the shed window at the two men approaching. She couldn’t recognise either of them, and as they reached the generator, she knew they weren’t a welcome member of their little community.

 

“The idiots haven’t fixed this yet, think we’re still good?”

“Yeah, should be. You start here, I’ll check one of the other sheds. See where they stock their produce before we go for the livestock.”

 

Fingers nimble despite her building rage, Ave quickly tested the sharpness of her arrow before loading it into her bow. The poacher had disappeared, and she flattened herself against the wall, pressing her ear to the thin shield between them. She could hear him circle the shed, and as he rattled the knob of the long-broken door, she cocked her bow. Despite herself, she jumped and swore when a fist smashed through the window she had entered through and knocking over a ladder.

 

The poacher, hearing her, paused for a moment at her outburst. Ave bit her lip, praying that if she stopped breathing it would still her furiously beating heart. She was certain he could hear the violent rattle of it through the heavy silence. Curiously, he raised a lantern to the glassless window.

 

“What do we have here?”

 

She lined up a shot, hitting his shoulder. 

 

“You fuck!” His hands reached for his holster at his hips, but she was much faster. Aiming blindly, she closed her eyes and hoped for impact.

 

Luck was on her side that day. Foolishly, she dared not open her eyes, but strained her ears as she heard him stumble, before a heavy weight hit the ground. Ave counted to sixty three times in silence, before tempting to move again.

 

She wasn’t sure how long he’d be incapacitated, and at this point, she did not want to find out. Moving as stealthily as she could, she eased herself through the now shattered window and pawed her way to his body. The lantern lay discarded, but it’s light spilled over the man’s spreadeagled body. Tentatively, she placed two fingers on the pulse point of his wrist, relieved yet sickly annoyed at the slow, steady thump that showed life. Moving quickly, she liberated him of his pistol, throwing her bow and arrows back through the window of the shed.  

 

Pulling the safety off with shaky fingers, Ave pointed the gun to the sky and pulled the trigger. Twice. Then she ran like all hell.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Okay, so posting this is terrifying, but here it is in all it's rough, dirty, and unedited glory. I've had this story floating around my brain for about four years, and chronic illness has finally given me time to write it. I haven't written for fun in about 84 years, so hopefully it isn't fucking terrible. There's about 15 chapters planned so far, so there should be an update once a week.
> 
>  
> 
> I'm at https://fridays--child.tumblr.com/
> 
> \- - - - 
> 
> Credits:  
> The title comes from 'Rilke’s Book Of Hours: Love Poems To God: The Book of the Monkish Life p. April 1905,' by Rainer Maria Rilke.  
> The reading during the funeral is Meditation XVII Devotions upon Emergent Occasions,' by John Donne.


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